


the chink in his armor

by mollivanders



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:32:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollivanders/pseuds/mollivanders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the troll, after he somehow becomes friends with Hermione Granger of the Three Hundred Spells (or at least, this is how he thinks of her), her hair keeps stealing his attention. When she’s taking notes in class – at an inhuman speed, he notes – it bounces around her crazily. She doesn’t tie it back, ever, and he thinks that’s strange because Ginny always ties her hair back when she’s doing homework. It’s not curly, just insane-out-of-control-I-belong-to-Hermione-Granger-of-the-Three-Hundred-Spells frizzy. Manic, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the chink in his armor

**Author's Note:**

> **Title: the chink in his armor**  
>  Fandom: Harry Potter  
> Rating: G  
> Characters: Ron/Hermione  
> Author's Note: Word Count – 1,360. Set throughout the series. Ron's always been fascinated with Hermione's hair.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Ron notices her hair first. How could he not, when it’s all bushy and frizzy and gathered around her like some strange halo? It takes him a moment to realize she’s asking him something, he’s so distracted.

“Er – all right,” he says, and performs a spell that isn’t really a spell. She won’t stop looking at him, and this is pretty intense, considering he hasn’t taken any classes yet. Ron’s pretty sure his ears are turning red.

“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” she asks. “Well it’s not very good, is it?”

He’s trying to look anywhere but her hair, which seems to have a life of its own, and when she swirls out of the compartment it takes him a moment to adjust.

“Whatever house I’m in, I hope she’s not in it,” he manages to say to Harry Potter who shares a nervous grin with him.

+

After the troll, after he somehow becomes friends with Hermione Granger of the Three Hundred Spells (or at least, this is how he thinks of her), her hair keeps stealing his attention. When she’s taking notes in class – at an inhuman speed, he notes – it bounces around her crazily. She doesn’t tie it back, ever, and he thinks that’s strange because Ginny always ties her hair back when she’s doing homework. It’s not curly, just insane-out-of-control-I-belong-to-Hermione-Granger-of-the-Three-Hundred-Spells frizzy. Manic, really.

And it suits her, he’s sure of this much. The color is kind of surprising too, because while some might call it brown, Ron knows there are bits of dark red and even some gold in there, muted streaks of bravery running through the tumbled mess.

She catches him staring at her once, third year, and he looks down at his notes quickly, his heart suddenly pounding against his chest in a very strange way. She doesn’t mention it after, and he tries not to look so often, but it’s always there and in his line of vision and way more interesting than Professor Binns.

+

At fifteen, he knows her hair in all its fashions. Ron’s seen it cut short from the summer, his chest aching at the way it stops short at her shoulders, and the way it looks in winter, spun with snow. Their first Hogsmeade trip it blows all around her face and he drags her, laughing and thirsty, into the Three Broomsticks where he talks about Zonko’s and all the candy he’s going to stockpile for later. It takes her hair a full half hour to calm down from the cold and settle around her face, like normal hair would.

(He expected nothing less.)

Ron’s seen it hang around her face when she works in front of the fireplace; he’s seen it take on a fury of its own when she’s yelling at him. He’s seen her tie it back – finally – when practicing in the Room of Requirement, though not even magic can keep it fully in place. He’s even seen it in his dreams, where it chases him around all night before finally tackling him, and he wakes up breathless and confused.

Now when Hermione catches him staring, she just rolls her eyes at him and he grins cheekily at her before going back to his homework. If he only knew what to say – but it’s probably not even possible.

+

Sixth year, he’s not allowed to look at her, not really. Not at all, actually, and it’s harder than he expected. Hermione Granger of the Three Thousand Spells (he had to change her title after their fourth year, because honestly, she is _such_ a know-it-all) is suddenly off limits and while Ron knows why, he doesn’t –

Well, how does someone go from being your best friend one minute to sending canaries at your head the next?

He’d be the last to admit it, but somehow there’s a hole in his life that he can’t quite fill. He tries, with Lavender and kissing, with Harry and Quidditch, and with Ginny and squabbling. It’s not the same with his sister though – she seems to be mad at him in her own way and the barbs she shoots at him hold something different. Ron catches himself wishing for Hermione and the banter they’d built up, which only they understood and could come back from.

(Not this time, apparently.)

And still, even though Hermione’s not allowed, is off limits, is no longer supposed to have her own names in his head, he sneaks glances at her in class, in the common room, and when Lavender’s not looking. Her hair’s gotten longer, thicker but not sleeker, and he decides he still likes it this way. Lavender’s hair is always sleek and a bit like Hermione’s the night of the Yule Ball but Ron – well, he didn’t like anything from that night and it’s not like Hermione needed that stuff anyway.

Stuff for what, he's not allowed to think about, and he certainly isn’t supposed to think about it with Lavender’s tongue in his mouth, but his mind wanders. It always has, when it comes to Hermione.

+

There’s a certain inevitability to hygiene, when you’re on the run and living in the woods in a tent. Try as they might, all three of them face the realities of being human and without all the blessings of the modern world. Ron sees Harry get shaggier and wear more cuts from shaving; figures he can’t look much better himself. Hermione reminds Ron, inexplicably, of when they were still just kids. She’s let her hair go and it’s longer, sure, but also lankier. It's more tangled than frizzy and the streaks of red and gold in her hair seem to have faded.

But Ron, he’s allowed to think about her now, to look at her, and when they keep watch together he lets his hands run through the tangled mess at her back in a comforting pattern. There's a natural scent to her hair he's never noticed before, a mix between vanilla and rain, but it seems strange to smell someone's hair. There are moments, though, when he's frightened by the way she looks now, all pale and unkempt and thin, as though she’s Petrified all over.

He presses a single kiss to her crown, just in case, and she doesn't pull away.

+

When she leaps up and kisses him, Ron’s world snaps shut to one simple fact: he is holding Hermione and Hermione is kissing him, in the midst of a bloody war.

(Well, that was always their way.)

He can’t help that he’s spinning them ‘round, because despite the Death Eaters and the house elves and Harry weakly protesting in the corner, he’s the happiest he’s been in years. Sod the Death Eaters. They’ll save the house elves. Harry can wait a second. When Hermione finally slides back off him and they catch their breath, he finds his hands still tangled in that bloody mess of her hair and he threads them out. The strands catch the light from the hall torches and he’s a grinning mess, just like her.

+

Time ages all things and Ron supposes he knew this would happen. He didn’t tell her about the first grey strand he found, or the second, but eventually Hermione’s hair turns from burnished brown and gold and red to a soft grey that hangs around her like a veil.

“I think it’s lovely,” he tells her when she rests her head against him, their breathing steadying out. Over her shoulder he spots a whole three scrolls she’s finished just tonight and rolls his eyes at the ceiling.

“Don’t be silly, Ronald,” she mutters against him and he would just let her fall asleep but this is important. Somehow, he never told her.

“No, I’m serious,” he says, brushing her hair out of her face so he can look at her. “I’ve always liked it.”

 _Always_ hangs between them like a memory and Hermione smiles at him, presses a kiss to his lips before curling up again.

“I love you too,” she says, her eyes drifting shut.

Ron would answer, but just for a moment, he’s too distracted.

_Finis_


End file.
